


Lucidity - One Shot Collection

by fullstop_means_iloveyou



Category: Naruto
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mystery, One Shot Collection, Writing practise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullstop_means_iloveyou/pseuds/fullstop_means_iloveyou
Summary: A collection of one-shots based in the Naruto world, with the purpose of helping me improve my creative writing. Some of them will have little or no interaction with the original cast and some will. I am open to any and all constructive criticism, and if you have anything you would like me to write I am open to suggestion as well.I will add more tags as they come up, and leave warnings on potentially upsetting stories.Thankyou and please enjoy!
Kudos: 2





	1. The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Practicing descriptive writing, internal monologue and exploring realistic in-story worldbuilding.

The rain tapped on the roof in a gentle rhythm. Whispering in my ear, lulling me into a soft daydream. Thunder echoed in the distance, humming the tune of an oncoming storm. I shifted, hard wood pressing into my back, keeping me from slipping into a gentle sleep. I sighed. It always smelt of rain and storms here. Traveling through Water country for the last three weeks brought me a deep, personal understanding of the name. It had been a long, wet and overcast journey that had yet to come to an end. The rain was relentless, slowly seeping into every square inch of my body since the moment I stepped into this muddy, river laden, estuary of a county the people of Rain called home. How anyone could enjoy the constant downpour was far beyond me.  
My hair was covered in mud, dried and crusted to every strand. It squished between my toes and filled my pockets with its cool gooeyness. My mind wandered to the soiled clothes that were likely cemented into a clump at the bottom of my soaked pack. Washing them was pointless, they would never dry in time, and we would be leaving at first light. We never stayed in one place too long, it made it too easy to be found, to be watched. I’m surprised that we were even staying inside; I had been thoroughly scolded multiple times for suggesting it. I’m glad we are though, sleeping in the mud and rain isn’t exactly pleasant. I mean a two bedroom, broken down house may not be superb, but anything beats swamp soaked sleeping bags on a cold night. There was even a kitchen with dry firewood, a stove and some left-over rice and vegetables. That meant warm food. Real, warm food. Not the soggy ration bars that tasted of chalk and death; clogging up your throat and coating your whole mouth in their strange, bland goo. And definitely not the waterlogged, chewy and all-round foul roots and berries that both smelt and tasted equally like swamp and dead fish. Last month my mouth tasted of crunchy, desert sand; now it tasted of mud. I never thought I could miss the taste of sand so much.  
The pattering of bare feet on wooden floors pulled me out of my reflection,  
“Food.”  
I let my head fall lazily to the side and our eyes met. There was a moment of silence, charcoal eyes stared at me for a still moment, before they turned and left:  
“Come.”  
I sighed, sluggishly attempting to get up. I was tired. Tired of walking. Forcing myself to move was like wading through a pool of sticky molasses. I lingered under the overhanging roof, glancing around the back garden one last time before ambling inside. My eyes flitted over the old furniture packed into the front room. All placed just a centimetre too close so you would repeatedly bump into it. A thin layer of damp dust coated each piece, tickling at my nose. Without maintenance, the rain had clearly gotten in and started eating away at anything and everything. A slightly rotted coffee table here and a mouldy couch there. Though from their appearance they hadn’t been top quality, even before. Most of the stuff in here seemed to be cheap and old, but it made sense. It’s hard to buy good furniture when you can barely afford to eat. Two, half empty glasses rested on one of the side tables. It was milk, with little chunky bits in it, you could smell it even from the other side of the room. The whole house tasted musty and mouldy; it almost made me question the food we were about to eat.  
I wandered into the kitchen. A pair of glasses, the wooden frames cracked and damaged, sat on one of the counters. A small toy lay in the corner, forgotten. Two chipped plates and one large bowl of steamed carrots, rice and potatoes stood on the low kitchen table. I sat down, cross-legged, the hard-wooden floor once again pressing into me. A small part of me wanted to feel bad, this was someone’s home and we were intruding, using their things, eating at their table. But the guilt was short lived because I never realized carrots and potatoes could smell this good and my mouth was watering. In my defence, I doubted they were coming back anytime soon if the half-packed boxes with clothes barely folded said anything. Even the door had been left ajar. It was clear. They had run. Most people had. Taken what they could carry and left. Hunger and loss does that to you. When the aching emptiness claws at your stomach and grief eats your mind, you do the only thing you know you can. It was fear, they were afraid. I was too, so was everyone I knew.  
But now I’m here.  
Not running, not anymore.


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exploring senses with descriptive writing and practicing third-person perspective.

Creased pages slipped through delicate, coarse fingers while the scuffed edges of a hard-cover book dug into her skin. Her back flush against the frosted window as the rain tapped on the cobbled streets and tin lined roof. It’s quiet echo dulled by the scutter of footsteps and soothing din. The room was awash with roasted coffee and sweet delicacies, it almost covered the scent of old books and wooden floors that lay underneath. It licked at her nose; the room so saturated in its fragrance she could taste it on her lips before even taking a bite. The warmth of the teacup that rested in her palm enticed her to drink, the honeyed liquid sat bitter on her tongue, coating it in its rich floral taste. It slipped down her throat, contrasting in its warmth to the chilled window making her shiver. It was her favourite spot no matter the weather.  
The clink of the teacup as it was set on the table brought her attention to the delicious looking treat laid on her plate, it smelled of almonds and sugar, promising something delightful. The cool, metal spoon felt heavy as she twirled it trough her fingers, plunging into the crumbly pastry. Bringing it to her lips and swirling it on her tongue, its pleasing flavour made her tastebuds sing and her toes curl. She hummed, turning the page of her book. What a splendid day for a treat.  
The whistle of winter wind behind the glass made her glance out into the frosted streets and snow-capped rooves. Few people dared go out in such weather, but she had always enjoyed the chill of winter. She had missed this place; years of traveling had taught her to enjoy small moments of stillness such as these. Given the swiftly falling snow and darkening sky it was likely she wouldn’t be leaving until tomorrow.  
Humming quietly, she took another sip of tea, swirling it in her mouth and savouring the flavour. It was not as though she was in a rush, her home had waited many years for her return, it could wait a few more days. It had been a long time since she visited last, not that there was much left to visit. Her last trip had treated her eyes to a vast plain with only small crumbled stone walls, naught but waist height, crowded with ferns and grass. The only relic left of the small village she had once called home. Still she went to grieve the life she could have lived, the family she might have had if things had gone differently.  
Once her people had been proud owners of this land, cultivating it, caring for it. She remembered the springs spent with her father toiling fields and watering crops. The summers exhausted wandering the forests, tending to its needs, listening to its stories. Winters curled up to a fire with her sister telling tales that had been overheard from travellers.  
Now she was the traveller who told tales, her home once a proud community had passed to memory, a history lost to a darker period.  
Perhaps one day she too would become lost in the passages of time.  
But not soon, there was still so much left to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for reading!  
> Please feel free to leave and advise/criticism below, it really helps me improve.


	3. Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Practising dialogue and story building.

Why?  
That’s all I want to know. Why?  
Out of the seven point whatever billion people on this earth (… well not this one specifically but the other one) why is it that I am the only one who has all this weird shit happen? Out of the multitude of things I had on my bucket list, dying from a rouge pinata (no, I will not elaborate), meeting death, and being reincarnated, not as a person but as a shitty ghost, were not on it. In fact I distinctly remember writing ‘Live until seventy, at the minimum’ and yet here I am. A sad, shitty, 20-year-old, ghost. I can’t even eat food, what’s the point?  
Not to mention I hate children and instead of being sent to live out my ghost years tethered to someone interesting, I have spent the last eternity with this screaming infant. Okay, not an eternity but I mean two hours is basically the same thing. Now I can’t completely blame the kid, it isn’t his fault the people in charge seemed to have forgot that they were supposed to do their job, considering I haven’t seen them since I got here and I am ninety percent sure we are in an orphanage. That or a really shitty hospital.  
“Can you stop dude? I don’t think anyone is coming and I might have to go looking for another pinata if you keep this up.”  
No Response, but also no more crying; progress.  
“Oh, you like it when I talk. Cool, because I’m good at that.” I float – yes, float - towards the occupied crib. “So, what are you doing here? Your parents ditch you or something?” Two beady blue eyes stare up at me. “Sounds rough little dude. I’m doing horribly by the way, thanks for asking.” He gurgled and a big glob of spit slid down his chin. “Come on man, that’s super gross. We’re having a conversation, keep it together.” I said giving him a grossed-out look. God, I’m going insane, I’m talking to an infant and it’s not even mine.  
“Well look if it makes you feel any better, my parents ditched me when I was your age too. It kind of sucked, but I mean hey it could be worse, you could be dead, like me.”  
Silence.  
“What, not a big talker huh? That’s fine I can carry the conversation.” I continued “It’s a nice place you got here, very… wooden? I’m a big fan of the whole no windows thing, adds a lot of mood to the room, very avantgarde.”  
It was a super disgusting room; they must have really scraped the bottom of the barrel on this one. First of all, the floor had a multitude of rusted nails and splinters sticking out of it. It looked like it might cave with just the slightest bit of pressure, not safe for anyone let alone a baby. Next, like I said no windows and the lights were possible the worst I had ever seen, the entire room felt like I had just stepped into a cheap horror house. If it weren’t for the fact that I was floating and dead, I would probably have tetanus. Can ghosts get tetanus? I mean I’m not corporeal, so I don’t think so, but I’d really rather not find out.  
After once again getting zero response except for indistinct baby noises, I continued. “What’s avantgarde, you ask? Honestly, I have no idea, but it sounds like the right word so let’s just roll with it okay.”  
I was startled from my musing by the door being open. In stepped what had to be the most unhappy looking person I have ever met, and that’s saying a lot. He gave the crib an absolutely repulsed look before making his way over with a bottle in hand.  
“Finally! It’s been what a month and now you decide to show up!” I exclaimed at the oblivious and incredibly rude looking staff member. “What no answer? Fine be that way, I’ll just report you to- oh wait.” He made his way up to the crib and with absolutely no tenderness at all picked up the baby and stuffed a bottle in his mouth. “Hey, that’s uncalled for. What did he ever do to you, asshole?”  
Continuing to ignore me, he finished feeding the kid while I glared at him, then dropped him back in the crib rather unceremoniously. “Um... shouldn’t you like change him of something? I don’t even like kids, and I know that.” He just started to leave. “What the hell bitch? I was talking to you.” A redundant retort considering the only one who can hear me can’t talk and is the size of three large potatoes.  
“Well, I hate to say it kid but if that’s how your getting treated you should probably write a complaint to management.” He burped, then cooed at me rather adorably, “Well suing them is a bit much but it’s your call I guess.”  
“Hey by the way, what’s your name?” I look down at the baby and stared. I don’t know if it was a linger effect from the pinata or just the bottled-up panic attack I had yet to experience, but I swear to god I stared at that infant for two minutes waiting for a response. He just gave me what I assume was a highly judgemental look, that or constipation but who can tell really.  
“Oh no, I am going crazy. Is this what insanity feels like?”  
Taking a minute to collect myself, I peer around the crib to glance at the name tag attached.  
“Na-Ru-To, cool name, sounds fancy.” I nod, turning to look at the kid. “Well Naruto, I’m Kaolin, I think we’re going to be stuck together for a while so, it’s nice to meet you.” He just gurgled happily, reaching out two chubby baby hands towards me. “Okay, I’ll admit it, for a screaming, gross infant you’re pretty cute. There happy?” I said, rolling my eyes with a smile. He smiled cutely right back.


End file.
